Silent Music

Have I so changed as I grow old? Where once the music played within the walls of sunlit space, I now prefer the shade. Beneath my silent tears of grief, among the darkened trees, I heed a midnight symphony that whispers on the breeze. The sound is quietly heard within, I hearken to the muse, the rhapsody of poetry, a lyric interlude. Beyond the dawning pastel glow, the orchestra of time, with harmony and memory, plays images and rhyme. And yet I know the music ends, the silence was foretold, I sense it still, though you may not, where shadows are consoled.